


Comfort Man

by chibinocho



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brothels, Comfort man, M/M, Shanghai - Freeform, World War II, comfort women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 09:10:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20850977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibinocho/pseuds/chibinocho
Summary: Towards the end of the Second World War an American troop remains in war-ravaged Shanghai. When Sergeant Sha expects an easy night out in one of the 'comfort stations' he gets more than he bargained for.





	Comfort Man

**Author's Note:**

> Is there an AU this fandom hasn't covered? This was a one shot from the old LJ group that's been cleaned up.

February 18th 1945 - Shanghai

Shanghai was a dump. Gojyo had decided this the minute he had landed there. Granted it had been pulled to pieces when the Japanese had attacked, but somehow he expected better than this. Luckily he hadn’t had to do any shooting or killing, it was simply peace-keeping. This suited Gojyo just fine as he had never really wanted to join the army anyway, it was something his mother had wanted. It was probably something to keep him out the way as he was the little bastard in the house, always had been.

Luckily, his relatively small troop (seven enthusiastic privates (mostly with Chinese blood to blend with the locals), one corporal and one highly dubious, not-good-with-blood sergeant) was installed just on the outskirts, taking up residence in the long-abandoned houses of the rich expatriates. Their only job was really stopping the coolies from doing any more looting (not that there was much to loot anymore., all that was generally left were the heavy large items) and arresting any remaining Japanese and taking them off to the centre garrison for Gojyo wished he didn’t know what. Numbers had been tailing off recently and it made Gojyo’s day to day issues of smoking, swapping girlie cards and drinking rather pleasant in places.

It had been into the fourth week when one of the younger soldiers had suggested the comfort station. At first Gojyo had ignored their gossip (honestly not knowing what it was, he had originally thought it was a bathhouse). However, as time wore on, girlie cards grew short and one of Gojyo’s friends – a cheerful half-Chinese guy called Tongpu – filled him in on the details, he became a little more interested. From what the younger guys said it was a pretty good place set up for American soldiers ‘comfort’ and that the girls were pretty and willing. The idea still stuck in his throat though and he initially refused. However, it was only after a particular awful day where he had had to open fire and the Privates decided to ‘cheer up Sergeant Sha’ did he reluctantly agree.

So Gojyo agreed and found himself at one of the smaller townhouses in the neighbourhood with the only gesture to it being a glorified brothel was the tattered looking red lantern hanging from the ornate doorway and a Eurasian woman smoking a pipe at the door. She grinned as she saw them coming and waved a yellow-stained hand. A hand that was scarred and partially burnt.

“Here for the goodies?” she queried in fluty English that was smattered with a variety of accents. “We have good girls, all colours, all varieties.”

The younger soldiers cheered and dug into their pockets for their money and trades. Cash was rare here but the soldiers very often managed to scavenge the odd handful of yuan or dollars. Most of the payment was in trades; jewellery, fancy food, equipment, small antiques whatever they could find in the abandoned houses. Gojyo pulled his face into a half grin half grimace as Tongpu had pulled out a couple of jewelled rings along with a small roll of yuan, covering himself and Gojyo. The woman cackled and rocked back as she swept the booty into a drawstring bag. She pushed open the door and welcomed them in.

“Bringing the Sergeant, you must like this place, yes?” she laughed and dropped her voice lower. “We have other specialities too … some pretty boys … even … kathoey.” The Thai word rolled around her mouth like a sugary sweet. “It’s new, best of both … cock and cunt – it’s extra.”

Gojyo shuddered and ignored her, reluctantly following his troop into the dingy two storey house. Crackly music played from a phonograph in the corner and women (and girls) were all over the entrance hall. Some were in chairs; others were propped up on hastily propagated bar stools and the younger ones sat on the stairs. There was a mish-mash of costumes all over the hall too: qipao in various colours and states of repair; Hepburn style trench coats that Gojyo was pretty sure held nothing beneath; American style tailored dresses and always the ever present make-up. Smoke tinged the air and Gojyo’s fingers itched.

It wasn’t actually that bad. Gojyo had seen worse.

A timorous girl in at short qipao with flowers on it served them a tray of drinks and nearly all the Privates immediately headed towards the dining room where, Gojyo had been reliably informed by Tongpu, gambling parties were popular with prizes very often being the prettier girls. Tongpu himself had disappeared in the throng, no doubt after the girl he had been waxing lyrical about before (“Legs from here to ya-ya”). With a sigh, he looked towards the dust-smudged windows.

It wasn’t like he didn’t like skirt. If anything he would chase it more voraciously than any of the striplings in his command would ever do and probably have a better success rate than them. No, that wasn’t the problem. He was sick of the war. Sick of the same days and nights. Sick of arresting and bundling off Japanese soldiers who were no more than teenagers to send them to their deaths. Sick of only cheap and badly brewed liquors and even cheaper cigarettes. Sick of only seeing women with money or fear in their eyes, who were already lifting their qipao before he had lifted a finger. And he was completely and totally sick of Shanghai. The big guys kept telling them the war was over but it didn’t feel it. Gojyo sighed.

“The weight of the world is on your shoulders it seems.” Came a soft voice behind him.

Gojyo turned to see a young man stood near him, holding a tray with a few drinks dotted on it. The man was tall and handsome, with a shock of dark brown hair that had been roughly cut to around ear level. He wore simple cotton drawstring trousers and a mandarin tunic-style silk shirt, pretty similar in style to what the coolies wore although his was a dark green colour and looked far more expensive. 

“Let me guess, you’re here for “comfort” too.” Joked Gojyo uneasily, almost pleased to find someone else frequenting the brothel rather than his troop. This person appeared to speak good English too with a minimal accent and by far the most striking thing was that his striking green eyes were looking at him without fear and without judgement. He was probably a student who managed to avoid it all and emerged unscathed. Bastard.

The man laughed and set down his tray on a convenient table that may have once been a planter.

“Ah, no but I quite understand the misunderstanding.” he replaced Gojyo’s empty bottle of beer with a full one. “I would be a supplier of that comfort.” The eyes crinkled in humour as Gojyo nearly choked on the first mouthful.

“What? But you’re … you’re … well, you’re normal.” He sputtered suddenly. The man smiled again and Gojyo found it faintly disarming. “You aren’t Chinese or anything.” There was no way that accent was Chinese.

“I thank you for the kind compliment but I fear I am. My mother was an amah who worked for my father, an English professor. I am the product of their short union. Although I believe my mother was only half-Chinese herself with a French father.” A girlish squeal from the gambling den interrupted them and Gojyo looked at the seemingly-relaxed man before him.

“How the hell did you wind up here?” He asked, although suddenly wishing he hadn’t, because he was probably part of the problem.

The man removed a few items from the tray before handing it to another girl in a qipao with a smile and a murmur of something in fluent Chinese. She fluttered her eyelashes at him and giggled sweetly, especially when Hakkai refastened her loose braid. She was barely old enough to have breasts. Gojyo’s stomach did another flop.

“Taken by the Japanese. I can speak Japanese well and they seemed to think of me as a novelty and took me to one of the larger comfort stations. Then when you all arrived and shut them down so I’m here.” He wiped a finger across the dusty window. “It’s not so bad.”

“It’s not good though.” Responded Gojyo genuinely. “I can’t imagine … You really like doing this?” he gestured around him. 

“You really like doing what you’re doing?” responded the man a little acidly and started to leave, heading towards the gambling room. For some reason Gojyo panicked at his displeasure.

“Hey, no, I didn’t mean that.” He reached out and grabbed the guy’s arm. It wasn’t the same bones coated in a thin layer of skin that the coolies and soldiers felt like; he was warm, faintly fleshy and enticingly real. The man paused, some defiance flickering in his eyes. “Shit, I’m sorry, it’s just you strike me as like a teacher or a librarian … not a … not a … comfort … man.” He paused and collected himself. “Sergeant Gojyo Sha.” He held out a hand and felt a childish leap of pleasure as the man took it.

“Comfort Man Hakkai.” He said with the faintest hint of a chuckle at Gojyo’s grimace. “And it’s not so bad here. We have rooms, we have food and we are relatively safe whilst you are all so interested in us.” Another squeal from the sofas punctuated his speech. “Besides, on a purely selfish basis, I do not get called for much. It seems you Americans are quite hung up over homosexuality and don’t wish to be seen ‘fucking the faggot’ as I believe the last one said.” He smoothed his tunic. “I generally look after the ladies and the girls. Mostly laundry duties and running errands although I am available … should someone want me.” Green eyes flicked up and met Gojyo’s who felt the stones in his stomach drop a little further.

“Well, seems you got it better than I do,” said Gojyo, forcing his voice to be light-hearted to mask his unease. He couldn’t deny there was something there. In his training days, with no girls around apart from the stone-faced old women who served the slops, the sex-starved trainees had turned to each other for company. Gojyo had been no stranger to bedding down with another man. However, this had been the first time where he had felt the desire that went beyond his prick. This man – slut for hire if he was brutally honest – seemed to call to him. However, it didn’t seem to be a plea for sympathy or rescue (as so many of the comfort women seemed desperate for) but a genuine quest for companionship and light amusement.

A further squeal, girlish laughter and a flutter of bolshy shouting indicated that one of his privates had finally won a girl. Gojyo winced at he heard the stomping of boots and the clatter of heels. Looking up he saw one of his own men on a bar stool, one hand gesturing with his cigarette and the other up and under a girl’s skirt who was squirming and gasping theatrically. 

Hakkai traced a finger around the crystal decanter of whiskey and two glasses (one chipped) left on the planter; no doubt taken from one of the rich houses nearby during looting raids. They were set neatly in a much-tarnished silver holder with a handle; no doubt the height of fashion in pre-war Shanghai and now a beautiful thing consigned to scrap. Much like Hakkai himself, Gojyo mused before he realised that Hakkai was staring again.

“Could I invite you to my room to talk with me further?” Hakkai asked gently, picking up the decanter. “I fear if we stay any longer down here we will be subjected to your copulating colleagues.” His speech was punctuated by a further cry as the ‘lucky’ girl by the bar stool accidently let her trench coat open, baring her breasts with pride. The soldier – a bulky guy named something-Cho - whooped.

Gojyo nodded a little too enthusiastically.

Hakkai’s room was one the second floor at the end of the corridor. Hakkai even had a key for it (“they do not believe I will need defending” he chuckled). It turned out to be in relatively good order: a bed that was made up with not-as-grey-as-expected sheets; an ornate small bookcase with a few stacks of tattered books; a worn and chipped washstand with a small mirror balanced precariously on the enamel bowl and a set of drawers pushed under the small window. It seemed suspiciously airy but quite possibly the most pleasant room Gojyo had been in since he had left Virginia.

Hakkai lit the two lamps, poured the whiskey and immediately apologised for it being watered down. Gojyo shrugged and sat where Hakkai had gestured feeling a little more comfortable with the situation now. He drank the whiskey gratefully but nearly dropped the heavy-bottomed glass when Hakkai started reaching for the clasps of his shirt.

“What the hell are you doing?!” he choked out, reaching to grab Hakkai’s wrist tightly. The whiskey burned the back of his throat. Hakkai gently moved away from the loosening grip, removed the shirt and folded it neatly.

“You have to be serviced.” Said Hakkai mildly, placing the shirt down and turning back to Gojyo, bearing a vicious scar across his stomach. “Ah, please don’t trouble yourself over that. It happened three years ago, when the Japanese first invaded. Customers aren’t often very gentle.” There was a slight challenge in the voice.

The scar was fascinating: pink against almost white and stretched like a spider’s web across smooth skin. Gojyo fought the urge to touch it, cover it … anything. Anything to stop it being a reminder of the war. Of blood. Of injuries. Of people forced against their will. The whiskey burned his stomach now. Hakkai removed his wooden sandals, nudging them under the washstand and reached for the drawstring of his trousers. Gojyo reached for them.

“Stop, I’m not doing this.”

Hakkai looked solemn, hands still at the strings.

“You are an American Sergeant and leader of the troop. An important client to keep happy. The men and women who run this are not as kind as you and like to ensure their products please by any means possible, which includes listening at the doors and checking the soldiers are decently entertained ...” He untied the bow of his trousers and hooked his thumbs into his waistband. “Otherwise business goes down. The girls will be beaten if they do not service you. You are unwilling to have any of the girls; however you seem attracted enough to me. We can do this now and continue our discussion later or I can find you a girl from downstairs.” With the final choice put before his now-humiliated customer, Hakkai dropped his trousers, picked them up and slung them on the washstand.

Clothed he was handsome; nude, Hakkai was beautiful. Almost like one of those fancy marble statues they had at the University near his house back home. Only this statue had been marred. Fading cigarette burns and bruises littered his body, making the scar seen less unusual. However, even this still didn’t detract from his well-muscled arms, lean torso and a semi-flaccid cock that was by no means small. Even though he knew he had just been played, Gojyo’s own cock stirred in his pants.

“You seem interested.” Breathed Hakkai gently, sinking down to his knees. Gojyo looked blankly down at him as his button-fly khakis were popped open one by one. 

He had had experiences with men before. You didn’t spend two years of your army life on the only goddamn army base for miles in the Philippines without getting involved with the guys. To say nothing of his high school experiences (sucking and being sucked off by Jimmy Buckland in the back of his Buick being a particular highlight). He had also been with prostitutes before. However, this was different. This was a guy that in the space of an hour he had wanted to know and talk to and who had kind of won his respect. Now he was just another seasoned whore, on his knees, working his cock to hardness and opening his mouth.

Gojyo gave the slightest moan when Hakkai tongue circled the head of his cock. The man was good, palming his balls and keeping gentle fingers around the base of his cock to stop him from coming without warning. Gojyo was torn between repulse and absolute pleasure. He shouldn’t really give a shit though. He wouldn’t be the first to shoot his load on Hakkai’s face or in his ass and most certainly he wouldn’t be the last. His pity levels should be at minimum. Gojyo gave a further groan as clever fingers stroked the underside of his cock. He shoved his hands in the messy mop of hair pushing himself deeper into the cavern of Hakkai’s mouth trying not to heed the slight choking noise. He felt his balls tighten.

“Nngh , almost…”

At that Hakkai withdrew, leaving Gojyo feeling wretched and most of all, unsatisfied and a little bitter. He had become another customer so easily and it disgusted him, but yet he was determined to finish. There was something about this clever-talking, business-like prostitute that raised his hackles and made him actually want to get his moneys worth. He watched as Hakkai surveyed his handiwork of Gojyo’s cock which was now swollen, pulsing and slathered with spit and precome. Licking his lips, Hakkai went to the washstand and retrieved what looked like a ladies perfume bottle, unstoppering it and returning to his kneeling position.

“Would you like to watch?” asked Hakkai in a monotone, eyes never meeting Gojyo’s. “Some do.”

Already deciding he wasn’t going to care about what Hakkai did or didn’t do, Gojyo shrugged. He caught the slightest hint of disappointment in Hakkai’s face which appeared to disappear just as quickly. Hakkai then parted his legs, coated two fingers in the strong-smelling oil and thrust both up inside himself without care. He moaned softly as he slid his fingers in and out, hips rolling. Gojyo felt himself respond. More whore’s tricks.

“How would you like me?” asked Hakkai softly, his voice now taking on the slightly breathy tone of most prostitutes. Slightly betrayed by Hakkai’s certain turn into distant professional, he gripped his cock and stroked it back to full hardness.

“Get on the bed. Hands and knees.” He muttered, shifting down.

Hakkai did so without a word, settled himself carefully, with no qualms about exposing himself. Gojyo positioned himself behind and grabbed a handful of Hakkai’s buttocks; parting them to expose the shiny, oil-slick entrance. Hakkai was still and wordless, keeping hands splayed on the thin pillow that even Gojyo could see was a carefully folded blanket. He even remained quiet when Gojyo shoved himself in, with little care for his comfort.

“You do this every day, yeah?” asked Gojyo, finding a quick rhythm. “Pulling soldiers in with that ‘don’t care’ patter?” he gripped Hakkai’s shoulders and pulled him firmly down onto his cock. Still there was no response. So Gojyo continued.

“You might think that we soldiers have the cushy jobs … we kill, we fuck and we rake in the profit … but I never asked for it to be that way …” he grabbed Hakkai’s hip tighter, feeling nails sink in. “I’ve had to put bullets in children’s heads because they had no parents nearby, I’ve sent grateful Japanese soldiers to their deaths, I’ve ignored coolies who have been beaten by my men …” slapping noises filled the room. “… but the one time I try and do the right thing …” each word punctuated by a harsh thrust. “I get played by a whore whose only concern is making a handful of extra yuan by pulling out the sob story.” He forced himself to orgasm, taking no real pleasure in his release before pulling out rather inelegantly.

“I’ll tell the madam you were good, no need to worry.” Said Gojyo bitterly, yanking up his khakis and heading for the door. It was still locked.

There was a creak from the bed. Gojyo turned back.

“I didn’t intend to play you.” Came the quiet murmur, Hakkai was slowly pushing himself off the bed and walking uncomfortably to the washstand. “They really do beat the girls.” He soaked a rag in the chipped enamel bowl. “You may have your right things to do, but regardless of whether I respected you or not, I will not watch a young girl barely out of childhood be whipped because some soldier wishes to do the ‘right thing’.”

“You don’t know what it’s like!” spat back Gojyo, trying to defend his mistake.

“I don’t?” responded Hakkai quietly, facing him. He was still naked. Gojyo’s seed rolled down one thigh and to Gojyo’s final humiliation, it was tinged faintly red.

After a moment of leaden silence, Gojyo didn’t respond. He was struck by guilt. Hakkai may be a whore but that was no reason to violate him the way he had done. Really he was no better than the other soldiers. He simply crossed the small room and took the wet rag. Kneeling at Hakkai’s feet, he wiped the rag over Hakkai’s leg, erasing his mistake in a series of slow circles. 

“I was a student, at the Shanghai university,” said Hakkai, his voice still gentle. “My father worked there, lecturing in physics whilst I studied liberal arts including Chinese and Japanese. When the civil wars started and the Japanese invaded, my father was killed on the street soon after. When our house was raided, our servants fled and I ran too. Unfortunately, I was soon found…” Gojyo rinsed the rag and continued his ministrations. Despite the blood and semen having practically gone, Gojyo felt the need to continue, in the fear that Hakkai may stop.

“… I was taken to the comfort station, being something of a novelty in that I spoke Japanese and wasn’t Chinese.” Hakkai sighed. “I was taken by the Sergeant-Major on the first night. I was terrified, having never experienced anything like that before. I struggled and pleaded with him in every language I know, before he finally became annoyed and attacked me with his dagger…” Gojyo’s rag stilled as did Hakkai’s story. “Is this too uncomfortable?” Hakkai’s voice was kind and sympathetic.

“No.” Gojyo rinsed the rag again and this time moved it upwards to Hakkai’s stomach with the scar, covering it in gentle swipes, waiting for Hakkai to continue.

“… I forget my numbers, most of us did. Many of the soldiers were young privates who often wanted no more than oral sex although the higher ups often wanted a good deal more than simply sex and would often get creative … When you invaded, they quickly abandoned the comfort station and ever came back. Most of us some realised that the comfort station was the safest place to stay when Americans arrived. Although they soon realised what a comfort station was.” Hakkai paused, meeting Gojyo’s gaze without flinching. “Yes, they took exactly the same advantage.”

Gojyo rested his forehead against Hakkai’s stomach, his hands still.

“I know. I knew when I joined.” He said sadly. “I’m sorry.” Hands came up to push into his hair like a halo. It had grown out almost to his shoulders now since the buzz-cut three years ago.

“Don’t be.” Hakkai’s fingers wound through his hair. “The next thing we knew, the Eurasians had moved in and we were exactly where we were before … only now it isn’t so bad. We are fed and clothed, with certain elements of freedom.” He sighed. “We can leave when we want … but where do you go?” his eyes met Gojyo’s again. “And you?”

At the invitation, Gojyo felt the floodgates open. On his knees in front of the prostitute in a raggedy brothel in war-ravaged Shanghai, he spilled his story. Of his step-mothers loathing. Of his fathers early death. Of his limited education due to his limited-but-significant Chinese blood. Of his brother missing in Europe. Of his forced sign-up into the army by his crazed stepmother after she had received the telegram. Of her suicide just after shipping out to the East. Of giving up on ever going home. Of even having a home to return to. Of his frequent nightmares over the numbers he had either killed or sent to their deaths.

And all through it, Hakkai remained standing, remained listening and kept his hands gently carding through Gojyo’s hair.

“… an’ I came here as a favour to the guys, bein’ nice.” He said moodily, his voice muffled in the now-breath-moist skin of Hakkai’s stomach. “an’ I end up raping you instead.” He kissed the scar. “Is there anything I can do?”

Hakkai hummed in pleasure.

“You could …” he murmured and Gojyo felt Hakkai firm against his chest. 

Gojyo palmed Hakkai’s rapidly thickening cock, pleased to see it jump and twitch. Wrapping his fingers around it, he opened his mouth and ran his tongue across the head. Hakkai moaned softly. Encouraged by this; Gojyo brought in all his experience from being a horny teen into sucking Hakkai off. He allowed Hakkai to push in as far as he could, gripping the rest of his shaft with a loose fist and rubbing it gently. Hakkai moaned faintly, knees shaking a little as Gojyo ran his other hand up Hakkai’s thigh, fingers teasing the loosened entrance gently.

Hakkai tightened almost immediately against the prospective pain, but Gojyo kept his touches gentle and light, letting his finger slip gently inside as he laved the underside of Hakkai’s cock, letting his tongue tease and play at the slit. As Hakkai’s internal muscles relaxed, Gojyo pushed further inside and began to search for that little spot that had him jetting come down Jimmy Buckland’s throat all those years ago. He teased and probed a little more, increasing his strokes. Just a little more, push a little harder …

“Ah, ngh …” was all the warning he had before Hakkai was gripping handfuls of his hair and pushing almost down his throat. Streams of salty, sticky come filled his mouth and spilled down his chin before Hakkai dropped down onto his ass, leaving Gojyo to spit in the washstand and toss back the remains of the whiskey.

“Ah, I’m sorry.” Murmured Hakkai.

“S’okay.” Grimaced Gojyo, relaxing a little as a whiskey took effect. He knelt beside Hakkai. “You okay?”

“Oh yes …” Hakkai’s voice was husky and satisfied. “Very much so.”

Gojyo grinned. 

“So … can I come back again tomorrow?”

February 19th 1945 - Shanghai

“Ah you’re back! Glad to see handsome Sergeant!”

This time it had been a heavy gold necklace scavenged from on of the burnt-out houses. More than enough. So much that the Eurasian woman had eyed him carefully.

Hakkai had been quietly marching out a merchant as Gojyo entered. The merchant was squirming in pain, being held by only his arm, but his arm at a certain angle that promised pain if the merchant even breathed a little. Two girls sat sobbing on the stairs and Hakkai had calmed then with soothing flurries of Chinese. It was so surprising to see another side to Hakkai and gratifying to see that serious face melt into an expression of joy at Gojyo’s entrance.

He spent the whole night. They had taken it slower this time, talking all the way through, exchanging tentative kisses throughout. Hakkai had been on top, rising and falling on him like a wave, head thrown back, quietly moaning. Gojyo’s orgasm had hit him like a bullet and he wouldn’t let Hakkai get off until his heart had found its way back into his chest.

They had curled around each other and slept. Or at least Gojyo mostly watched Hakkai sleep. Hakkai murmured softly and wound tightly around him like a pretzel.

“I’m coming back tomorrow.”

February 25th 1945 - Shanghai

“Obviously like Hakkai, yes, Sergeant?”

Handful of dollars, a gramophone and several bars of chocolate had paid these last few days. The Eurasian woman had escorted him in herself, looking self-satisfied, leading him up to Hakkai with a knowing grin. Hakkai had remained perfectly calm and served drinks to not only Gojyo but her and the other two customers who had followed her in. One guy had shown interest in Hakkai, a big man who looked European, Gojyo had stepped hastily in, sweeping him away.

They had retreated to Hakkai’s room, which now sported a large (if a little threadbare) damask cushion. Hakkai had laughed and joked about Gojyo being his patron; Gojyo joked about making him a mistress. Their resulting playfight ended in the cushion being used for Hakkai’s hips as Gojyo took him face to face.

“I want you to top.” Murmured Gojyo softly to the top of Hakkai’s head.

“Tomorrow.” Said Hakkai

March 4th 1945 - Shanghai

Seven days passed and Gojyo hadn’t been. The coolies were becoming cannier in stowing away the goodies they found and his job was getting heavier with increasing gunfire as the remaining Japanese were rounded up and the prisoners started to return and demand their properties back. The merchants were invading, the British were returning; ready to call on their foreign bank accounts and lawyers to reactivate their lives. The first trading ship had come in and with it out came the last insurgents ready to rob and loot as much as they could.

Two members of his troop were shot and had to be stripped and buried at sea to stop looters. He had to miss the seven days. He thought of Hakkai throughout, thought of tomorrow which looked hopeful.

March 5th 1945 - Shanghai

“Ah! We thought you go. Get annoyed with Hakkai. Don’t worry, he popular now.” The Eurasian looked smug and held out her hand.

Gojyo pulled out the last of his secret stash: three packs of good cigarettes, a pair of small diamond earrings and necklace pendant (he held back the enormous diamond ring he had found under the bed in case he needed it) and didn’t even wait for the Eurasian’s reaction before pushing in.

He found Hakkai sporting a black-eye and walking tentatively around serving drinks. The large European man from a few days before kept pawing at him when he walked by and Gojyo felt queasy. It was obvious that Hakkai was paying attention to him but his movements were slow and robotic and in places slow and ungainly. His eyes were dull and downcast, avoiding everyone in the room.

An entire childhood spent gauging the reactions of others (he could read his stepmother at fifty paces) told Gojyo that it would not be good for Hakkai if he greeted him now. He moved silently up to the bar, waiting for Hakkai to arrive with more drinks.

“I’m sorry.”

Hakkai nearly dropped the tray. His mask dropped into a genuine smile of delight before slamming up again immediately, Gojyo reached out to touch him but found out the reason for his change of expression. The European had grabbed Hakkai’s wrist and pulled him over, reaching down to grip his backside and squeeze it. Gojyo’s hand dropped to his revolver, letting it fall with the minute shake of Hakkai’s head.

“Mr Ravelli, this is Sergeant Gojyo.” He said, disentangling himself from the harsh embrace.

Mr Ravelli didn’t look particularly enamoured with being forced to meet what appeared to be his rival for the goodies but reluctantly shook Gojyo’s hand with more force than was necessary.

“I’m afraid I beat you to this one.” He murmured voice rough and scratchy with cigars. “Don’t get wrong, I like the girls but I got the wife and there’s just something about boys … young men, the novelty you know.” He looked at Hakkai whose face remained impassive. “Not that this one particularly shows any fire in the bedroom but he’s got a pretty enough face to fuck and tight enough ass to park a prick in.” he grinned and slapped the ass in question. Hakkai laughed, although it sounded hollow to Gojyo who himself was shaking with repressed anger.

“Mr Ravelli, if you would excuse me.” He said politely. “I do need the bathroom.” He bowed gently and excused himself, which a twitch of eyebrow at Gojyo.

Excusing himself under the pretence of chasing one the other girls, Gojyo managed to slip past Ravelli who had decided that he could push his attentions on the kathoey kid who was commanding a fair few stares thanks to his skin-tight qipao. Gojyo finally slipped through the dining room and up the back stairs, taking them two at a time and crashing straight into Hakkai in a frenzy of kisses and embraces, only stopping when Hakkai hissed with pain.

A shirt unfastened and red, black and blue welts and bruises appeared before Gojyo’s eyes.

“When you didn’t come back, they beat me,” said Hakkai quietly “Luckily Mr Ravelli turned up the day after …” his voice didn’t sound convincing. “… I had no choice.” His voice was heavy with implied meaning. “Not in our bedroom though …”

Gojyo’s heart broke. He had visions of Hakkai on his knees before the large merchant, taking his cock in his mouth. The European forcing Hakkai against a wall (although Hakkai was quite capable of looking after himself) and the touching way Hakkai said ‘our room’.

He had to choice. He ran away with Hakkai that night.

March 18th 1945 - Shanghai

“Won’t your troop realise I’m not Private Cho?” murmured Hakkai in the truck, conscious of people around him breathing.

“Don’t worry about it, Cho is dead. The uniform’s going spare, just keep your head down and shut up. The guys know what’s going on, there’s only three left now anyway and they’ll keep quiet.”

Hakkai nodded. He had adopted all of Cho’s existing papers and it had proved an easy adjustment, having never really possessed a surname (as the child of an amah, it had never really crossed his father’s mind to register him as an official son). His early-gained skills in paperwork and intimate knowledge of the Shanghai black market soon had a whole sheaf of papers available on Private Cho (including dual citizenship of Britain and America – something he was really rather proud of). 

As the truck rumbled across the field, Hakkai found himself wishing there was a window to watch himself arrive at the airfield to leave Shanghai. It had been his existence for so long he had forgotten the pull it held for him, his earliest memories had been of the Bund and the University beyond. A jolt from the plane pushed against the bruises on his back and reminded him of why he was leaving. 

He had had to spend five days in the garrison, hiding in Gojyo’s quarters, on one notable occasion the Eurasian woman’s husband and friends – who had notable interest in the brothel - came calling. Understandably put out at the prospect of their biggest selling whore having run away; they had immediately consulted his last patron only to find the said whore in the small kitchen quarters simmering a fish soup, using what he had managed to gain on the black market that day. 

Hakkai had fought back as best he could. He had taken the knife – coated in fish guts – and defended himself ably, taking down the husband first with a furious slash and lunging at the others. However, sheer brawn had soon over-powered him and decided to teach him a lesson with a beating, as the woman gathered ropes together to tie him down. It was only with Gojyo’s timely arrival with the troops in a jovial mood – having just received word that they were to be shipped home soon - ensured that they were they only too willing to sling out the troublemakers and promptly sent the Eurasian packing.

Hakkai had actually been grateful for Gojyo’s news that night. After the redhead had patched up his few injuries (another blow to newly-healing ribs) and they had indulged in a quiet fumble in Gojyo’s cot, before pulling out Cho’s old uniform and belongings. Somehow it felt wrong to be taking the place of a dead man, taking his belongings and name ready to use. Hakkai wondered if Cho had had family, if he had had a life back home. Cho’s very future had been stolen by someone with no future of his own …

The truck lurched to an uncomfortable stop. Gojyo’s fingers knotted into his, hidden beneath a swatch of khaki that was slightly too loose and he was soothed. They left the truck together, hitching down to head to the tattered airfield, ready to start their new life. 

In time to watch their plane hit the nearby paddy field in flames.

June 19th 1950 – Hong Kong

The weak wind blew through the cracked open window and lifted the humidity a little. The sun was setting down, giving everything a burnished orange glow, making even the tattered houses of the backstreets of Hong Kong look presentable, even enviable. Although didn’t make the air any less stagnant or skin any less sticky. 

Sweat ran down Hakkai’s lightly-tanned skin as he came with a muted cry of pleasure. His back arched into the sunset glow as he emptied himself into Gojyo’s welcoming depths. Gojyo himself was sprawled back on the threadbare pillows, enjoying the aftermath of his own orgasm that was spattered over both their stomachs. His hair fanned across the sheets like a halo and he purred like a cat when Hakkai finally lowered himself into welcoming arms.

After the plane had gone down in flames it had been Hakkai who had taken action. In the chaos that followed, he had pulled Gojyo back towards Shanghai, straight into the town and down into the winding backstreets. They had broken into an abandoned shack and huddled there; shivering against each other, almost surprised to be still living. It had been a long time before they dared to venture out.

Hakkai – the more practical resident of Shanghai who was also fluent in Wu Chinese – had been the one to enter the old sections of the city, diamond ring in hand, seeking out a paper forger for them both. Gojyo had ventured out in his uniform, using his last vestiges of power and remaining bullets in his gun to gather as much booty as possible for them both. One night, Hakkai had returned, minus the ring and nearing a sheaf of new papers for both him and Gojyo, registering them both as inhabitants of Hong Kong.

“We need to start new.” Explained Hakkai.

They had travelled down to Hong Kong by boat, buying passage and non-army clothes with the remains of Gojyo’s booty, Gojyo learning Chinese as best he could with Hakkai as his teacher (rewards were very often kisses or sweaty sex sessions in the bowels of ship). They finally arrived under the cover of night and once again, vanishing into the back streets like a pair of animals. It had taken three days of searching before they had found an abandoned house in a ramshackle row near a market. 

Gojyo’s fingers swirled into Hakkai’s sweat, creating patterns, wincing a little as Hakkai withdrew from him and flopped down to lie beside him. Gojyo’s fingers reached out to touch the old cigarette burn scar on his shoulder. The changes in Hakkai were amazing to see: he was healthier, happier and more than anything his green eyes were now bright and sparkling in the sunshine.

“Do you ever think of Shanghai?”

Hakkai kissed him. It was slow and lingering, filled with promise and happiness. 

“Sometimes … Do you?”

Gojyo nuzzled his hair, thinking back to the brothel, thinking of ‘Comfort Man Hakkai’. That title had been utter bullshit, the real comfort man was here now; living, breathing and loving in their threadbare bed. Scars and all.

“That was then, this is now.”


End file.
